


Heartbreak and Horntails

by AtHomeWithWords



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Pregnancy, Anti-Ron, F/M, Post-War, Pregnancy, Secret Relationship, anti-harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 11:44:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18409958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtHomeWithWords/pseuds/AtHomeWithWords
Summary: ONE SHOT: Hermione wasn't meant to be alone. She wasn't meant to be alone, pregnant, and on the run from her ex-best friends.





	Heartbreak and Horntails

**Author's Note:**

> Not *really* anti-anyone but Harry and Ron aren't the greatest of best friends in this.

With a heavy heart, Hermione looked out through the kitchen window to her neighbours. Monica was chasing after a six year old boy as Wendell held up a five year old girl, pretending to put her up in the tree. They’d never been active in Hermione’s life as Richard and Helen, the new life Hermione gave them made them different people and that apparently meant they were more involved parents. It hurt. Hurt more than being alone with her own child growing inside her as she watched her parents with their new children, adopted but so very much theirs.

Hermione had never felt that, not really. She had been raised by her grandmother and, after her death, spent time with a child-minder. Workaholic parents were distant parents, no matter how much they loved their child and gave them the best education and home possible. They’d barely been around but they loved one another in their own way.

It was August 31st. Hogwarts would reopen the next day and she had meant to go, to do her eighth year, but she couldn’t bring herself to even return to Britain after the trials had failed her.

They’d locked up the man she loved, the father of her child, despite his work as a spy and despite the curses placed on him at the hands of Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He had been abused and tortured and used, but they needed someone to blame and he’d been there, waiting for the Aurors to take him.

Moving from the window as she began to cry, Hermione moved to the kitchen. The little house she had rented was warded so well that it was almost unplottable. The unspeakable that had gone to check on her parents had done it for her then allowed her to obliviate the memory of Hermione from his mind. As far as he was aware, Hermione Granger hadn’t gone near her family.

The glamour spells hid her appearance from anyone attempting to seek her out by using her parents, the house would look empty to anyone seeking her out, owls would never be able to find her, locator spells would gloss over her. Nothing would find her.

A knock no the door wasn’t supposed to happen. Hermione ignored it. There were only three people that were allowed entrance into the house, none of them would be able to get to her though, surely.

“Hermione?” A familiar voice, muffled by the door, called to her. “Hermione, are you in there?”

“There’s no one in this house, Harry.” Another voice complained, “we’re wasting our time.”

“Ron, you know as well I do that she could do this with magic.”

“You’re reaching, mate. She doesn’t want to be around us, remember. She chose her bed of snakes, let her lie in it.”

“What if she’s here?”

“Then she would’ve opened the door.”

Peering around the doorway, she watched as Harry and Ron walked away past the window, casting a polite wave to the confused Monica and Wendell.

A few moments later, Monica’s familiar knock came and Hermione rushed over to greet the woman.

“Are you alright?” Monica immediately fretted, looking Hermione over. “I heard those men talking about you, the red-head didn’t seem to like you.”

“They… used to be my friends but made me choose between them and…” she trailed off, placing a hand over her stomach. Monica understood, smiling lightly.

“To make you choose… They couldn’t have been very good friends. Not really.”

“I fell in love with someone I never should have. His family raised him to hate me and he did. For years, he hated me and my friends, bullied us something awful. Then he changed, his family became… fanatics and he hated it. I wanted to help him get out of it but they used him for information then arrested him.” She was crying enough that Monica hugged her close.

“Oh, poor girl,” she whispered, soothing Hermione’s hair. “Will he come back to you?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to have to move again, if they found me here. They don’t know about the baby. I can’t let them know.”

“Be safe, Maia,” Monica pulled back, tucking Hermione’s hair behind her ears. If she had only said Hermione, it would have felt like her mum was back with her. “I hope you and your baby will be safe.”

“We will be. I’d best start packing. Thank you for coming over,” she offered, stepping back. Monica bid her goodbye, hoped to see her again.

Hermione was gone in the next hour.

 

-

 

Hermione had vaguely remembered that her family had been Greek a few generations back on her mother’s side, so Greece was where she went next.

For another four months, she managed to live at peace without recognition. Until one stupid day she went to get the paper from the letter box and forgot her glamour. A passing wizard exclaimed her name and she fled into the house.

She apparated away from the top of the hill just as Harry and Ron burst through her now emptied house.

 

-

 

Labour came unexpectedly and painfully and in a blind panic, Hermione went to the only person far enough away from all situations back in Britain that she could.

Breaking into the dragon reserve wasn’t too difficult, actually, and facing off with four tamers and five security staff until Charlie popped up had been enough distraction that she hardly felt the contractions.

Then Charlie came, her water broke, and she made him swear not to say a fucking thing to his family, all the while breaking his hand.

“Erm, Cathy,” he called over his shoulder, trying not to fall to his knees, “you think you can help in a human birth instead of a dragon one?”

“Probably similar,” Cathy shrugged, walking over, “your friend has the same temperament as a Horntail, so…”

Sixteen hours later, a little girl was in Hermione’s arms, the wispiest little locks of startling white curls escaping the blanket, tanned skin pink at the cheeks as she belted out a cry.

“What are you going to call her?” Charlie asked, smiling at the baby.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, tears coming to her eyes, “I hoped her father would be here to help my pick by now.”

Charlie just grinned at her, looking over her head to the entrance of the medical tent. “Maybe he’ll turn up soon.”

Looking over the edge of the propped up bed, Cathy was grinning too.

“I don’t think so,” she responded to Charlie as she looked back at her whimpering daughter. “He’s still in Azkaban.”

 

-

 

Charlie had given up his tent for her, though calling it a tent was underwhelming. It more of a canvas house, complete with two floors and as homey as the Burrow. Cathy had transfigured Hermione a crib and visited often for post-natal checks.

“I am a human healer too,” she’d told Hermione, “but I usually only work on people here if there’s a big accident. It means a lot that Charlie trusted me over the others with you and your daughter.”

“Thank you for helping,” Hermione had simply replied, staring out of the plastic covering meant to be a window. The Hungarian Horntails were over there, she thought, my kind of dragon. her daughter stirred in her arms, waking up and beginning to cry for a feed.

As much as she loved her daughter, she wished she wasn’t so alone.

 

-

 

Five days old. Hermione’s daughter was five days old and still didn’t have a name.

Arm wrapped around her, lifting her from the floor in front of the crib. Her hands were over her face as she pressed against her mouth, muffling her sobs. Why couldn’t she pick a name?

 _“Shhhhh_ ,” she heard as she was taken over to the bed. “ _Shhhhh_.” A hand ran through her tangled hair gently and she fell into the warm chest beside her.

“Why can’t I name her?” She cried, curling into who she guessed was Charlie. Exhaustion took over and her sobs bubbled out as she drifted off. “I want Draco,” she whined softly.

She must have been delirious at that point, because she heard an impossible voice say, “I’m here, Hermione.”

 

-

 

Blinking, Hermione figured she was in one of those dream-within-a-dream moments. She thought she’d woken up but Draco was sat on the other side of the bed, holding their daughter.

“You’re not real,” she whispered, feeling tears well up in her stinging eyes.

Her Draco turned his attention from their baby and he smiled softly, pain flashing in his eyes. “I am real, Hermione. Just get some more sleep. You’ll see how real I am in the morning.”

“You can’t be real,” she replied as she began to drift off again, “they took you away from me.”

 

-

 

When Hermione woke, the calendar had been crossed off to show she’d slept for two days. Panicking, she threw off the covers, stumbling as her head span, and she ran to the crib.

Empty.

Panting, she slipped her way down the stairs towards the sound of her baby’s gurgle and slammed to a halt as she turned towards the kitchen.

“You’re real,” she whispered, staring at Draco bare-chested and holding their daughter close as he attempted to make a sandwich with his free hand. His gentle eyes landed on her as he stopped.

“I’m real,” he replied, moving around the counter to step in front of her. “I’m _real_ , Hermione.”

Shaking fingers reached out, pressing against his pale skin. Their daughter’s skin had darkened slightly, taking more after Hermione than Draco in tone. Brushing her hand over his chest, up his shoulder, she finally came to hold his face.

“You’re here,” she let out before her tears racked her body. His free arm wrapped around her, pulling her in gently around their daughter who squirmed slightly but remained asleep. “How are you here?”

“It seems Potter told us different tales to keep us apart,” Draco admitted quietly, brushing a kiss against her cheek. “He told me that you left, not wanting anything to do with me. The papers reported my sentence to Azkaban as a cover, Hermione. You were meant to know the truth. I was helping the Aurors get the rest of the Death Eaters. I thought you didn’t want me.”

“How did you find me then?”

“The only decent Weasley I’ve ever met had a hand in that,” he chuckled, “sent that mouthy lass Cathy over to find me. I’d been drinking myself into a stupor, thinking that you’d left and didn’t really want me, that it had been a ruse to get me to spy on the Death Eaters. She punched me so hard that she knocked me out and all but kidnapped me from the pub I’d been in. I didn’t believe them that you’d had our child until I saw you. I didn’t know, Hermione.”

“I thought you had gotten the Kiss.” She wept, clinging to him. “I thought you were gone forever.”

“No, love. I’m here. I’m here and I’m real… and I am never leaving you again.”

 

-

 

Two weeks later, Hermione, Draco, and Lyra Helena Malfoy left Romania after their wedding ceremony. Hermione had told Charlie to share the good news with his family and he promised to do so in a spectacular fashion.

That spectacular fashion was on the back of a small dragon with a banner attached to the tail for all of Britain to see.

 _Hermione Granger Marries Order-Spy, Draco Malfoy_.

He gave exclusive interviews about Hermione and Draco’s story, having gotten the tale from the pair, and announced the birth of their daughter, conceived at the Battle before the Aurors wrongfully arrested Draco and attempted to send him to Azkaban. He spoke of Harry and Ron’s treachery to their best friend, their lies to the world, and how Hermione had been so desperate to hide from them that she ended up giving birth in a Dragon Reserve medical tent instead of a hospital.

“They’re all safe, they’re all happy, and they’re all expecting privacy. Draco is a free man, he is a good man, and he is looking only to raise his daughter and love his wife. He was never a monster. He’d been used by the Order and the Ministry instead of granted the protection he’d been seeking. Mistakes were made but now we all ask you leave them to their lives.”

 

-

 

Uncle Charlie was the only Weasley to remain in Hermione’s life for a while. Uncle George came a few years after, apologising for coming sooner. He hadn’t been in on the scam, simply too heartbroken and depressed over Fred’s death to do anything with his own life, let alone the lives of others.

Harry sent letter after letter, Ginny eventually stopped, Ron never attempted to write. Hermione never read the letters. Even after five years of happiness with Draco.

Five years, two children, another on the way.

Lyra Helena Malfoy was an aspiring dragon expert, even at five years old. Draco had joked, asking if she was sure Lyra wasn’t Charlie’s child, after watching the pair play with the pygmy dragon Charlie had bred. They’d bring him in a fortune once he started selling them out. Not for the public as pets but to magizoologists and dragon researchers. Much easier to research a miniature dragon instead of a real one. Only Lyra would ever have a pygmy dragon for a pet. She had her mother’s sense of adventure and none of her father’s self-preservation.

Whilst Lyra was a clone of her mother, save for the white colour of her unruly curls and slate of her eyes, Scorpius was the spitting image of his father save for the brown eyes and scattering of freckles across his nose and arms.

Scorpius adored Uncle George and the pair were always up to mischief, but Scorpius also had his father’s cunning and mother’s overflowing knowledge. At three, he was already far too smart for his own good.

“I wonder what the next one will be like,” Draco chuckled, kissing her lips then bending to kiss her stomach. He had hated that he missed Lyra’s birth and was adamant to be there for their other children’s births. He hardly left Hermione’s side.

“I hope the next one will be easier to handle,” Hermione laughed back, meeting his eyes as he straightened up, “but I doubt that.”

“I don’t know, they’ll have no uncle to corrupt them. Lyra has Charlie, Scorp has George. This little one’s all ours.”

“I doubt that,” she sighed as the floo opened and Teddy ran through, followed by Andromeda. “There’s always Cousin Teddy.”

With a groan, Draco folded around her and held her close. “Are any of our children going to favour _us_?”

“Probably not,” Andromeda answered, greeting them both with a laugh. “That’s not what children do, not until they’re older and realise just how much they need their mothers and fathers. Dora was the same. Adored her father’s brother, Maxwell, from a young age but when she grew up a bit, she realised she needed her mum for things.”

“I’m going to be left behind,” Draco sniffed, eyes sparkling with humour. “Lyra and the new baby will go to mummy and Aunt Andy and Scorp will forget he’s got a dad because there’s Teddy and his Uncles.”

“Stop pouting, Draco,” Hermione laughed, hopping on her toes to kiss his lips once more. “You’re face will stick like that if the wind changes.”

He growled, tickling her sides lightly as she squealed, before pulling her close, back against his front. “You just wait. They’ll forget all about dear old dad.”

Before Hermione could respond, both their children called for their dad to come see something before fighting over who would get him first. Lyra’s pygmy horntail puffed fire and Scorpius’ cauldron began to shoot small sparks.

“You were saying?” She teased. Looking around, she saw the smile on his face and knew.

She’d never change a thing about their life.

And she’d never forgive those who tried to take it from her.


End file.
